How came your image there? and in that room!
Where she, the all-adored, my life's sweet bloom,
Died poisoned! She, my scarcely one week's bride—
Yes, poisoned by a gift you sent to her,
Thinking her death would win me to your side.
It won me; yes! but.... Well, it made some stir—
By your own hand, I think, they said you died.
IV
Time passed. And then—was it the curse of crime,
That night of nights, which forced my feet to climb